Everything Else
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Merlin is simply of the opinion that Arthur has awful timing, and needs to work on how he says things when his servant is exhausted beyond words. "What... do you... mean?" Merlin asks slowly, carefully, still half sure that he is hearing things, but half going along with Arthur's words anyway just in case he isn't.


_Everything Else_

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

There isn't anything too out of the ordinary about today, Merlin has awoken the prince, has dressed him, has sharpened his sword and polished his chainmail, and has sat through training and practice and meetings, and has fed the prince, and done the wash, and it has been dull and normal and _typical_ , and that is all. Well, and it has been _tiring_ too, but dull and normal and _typical_ always is. He is looking forward to going to bed, to leaving Arthur's chambers and chores behind for the day, to going to his own chambers and collapsing into his own bed. As long as Gaius doesn't have any chores for him to see to beforehand, as long as nothing magical has sprung up that Merlin is not yet aware of, he thinks maybe for once he will get a decent night's sleep. And wouldn't that just be _something_.

As soon as the prince is in bed, as soon as he says Merlin can go, the servant isn't going to waste any time leaving on the off chance of him thinking of some ridiculous task or chore for him to see to before morning. Merlin usually wouldn't put it past Arthur to do such a thing, but the prince has been _awfully_ quiet and contemplative all day. If Merlin wasn't so dead tired, if exhaustion were not settled deeply in his very bones, he would press the prince for his thoughts, for what is troubling him. But he has decided it can wait just a few hours, and if he is still in such a state come morning, well, _then_ Merlin will inquire, will try to help him.

But tonight he is tired, and it can wait.

Arthur has just approached his bed, shirtless in the dark of the warm night, and Merlin stands in anticipation, eyes watchful on Arthur as he stares down at his bed, at the turned down covers that Merlin knows will be in a knotted mess at the foot of his bed come morning, lost to the tossing and turning that often plagues the prince in these warm months. Merlin would ask why Arthur even _bothers_ with the blankets at all, really, because the Gods know Merlin doesn't, but his mouth is heavy with exhaustion as well now, and for once he does not want to make conversation or press Arthur to talk about things that wouldn't matter in the daylight anyway.

Instead, he makes himself say, "Sire?"

Arthur looks from his bed to Merlin, raises an eyebrow with a silent question, and Merlin continues, "If there's nothing else you need or want done..." he nods towards the door to finish the rest of his question, raises an eyebrow and waits.

And _waits_.

A long moment passes after his question falls off, and Arthur is just staring at him, and it makes Merlin's skin itch, perspiration gathering on his neck and making him regret for the umpteenth time that day wearing a neckerchief at all. He licks his lips and levels Arthur with a rather impatient look now; he can see something just behind Arthur's eyes, isn't sure that he likes it much, if at all; _perhaps_ he shouldn't have said anything, should have just waited for Arthur to dismiss him as he always does, because if Arthur gives him some new chore or task he doesn't know just _what_ he is going to do, but he's sure it will not be pleasant for either of them.

"There _is_ ," Arthur says finally.

A breath falls from Merlin, exasperated and exhausted. Right. _Of course_ there is. He should have known.

"Alright," he nods, tone clipped. "What is it you need, what do you _want_?" he asks, knows he wouldn't get away with that tone of voice on a bad day or night, but Arthur seems to not mind it tonight, doesn't seem to have noticed it at all, because his expression does not change in the slightest.

He takes a step away from his bed and towards Merlin instead, pauses, hesitant and unsure suddenly in a way Merlin has never seen before. Instantly, something in him perks up, more awake than he thought he was capable of being right now. This is new, this is... this is _curious_.

"Arthur? What do you need me to do? I haven't all night here, you know, _some_ of us would like to sleep sometime soon."

Arthur smiles at that, and it's nice, comforting, a familiarity in a suddenly odd and strange moment.

"Right, would _hate_ for you to miss out on your beauty sleep," Arthur snorts.

"Come on, you prat, just... tell me what you want already so I can do it and get it over with and get some sleep before I have to be up before the crack of dawn to make sure _your_ royal arse is up on time."

Arthur shakes his head, and Merlin thinks he is about to say something to that, something sarcastic and playful before he sends Merlin off to do whatever _ridiculous_ chore he needs done, but... there is no sarcastic or playful remark. There is only silence once again, and it is _almost_ unsettling, except... except this is Arthur and it really isn't.

"I want... you," he says at last, looking as though the wind has been knocked out of him.

Merlin cocks his head, waits for Arthur to finish, to tell Merlin what it is _exactly_ that he wants of him. But the blond offers nothing else, leaves only silence between them yet again.

"You want me to... do _what_?" he asks, prodding and confused and curious.

"I don't want you to _do_ anything," Arthur shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. "I just..." he swallows and takes yet another hesitant step forward. "I just... _want_ **_you_**."

Merlin stands still, blinks at Arthur, _sure_ that he hasn't heard him right at all. He is so tired, he simply _misheard_ Arthur due to exhaustion and wishful thinking.

"You want... **me** ," he says dumbly, points at himself to verify anyway.

"Yes."

"What... do you... _mean_?" Merlin asks slowly, carefully, still half sure that he is hearing things, but half going along with Arthur's words anyway just in case he _isn't_.

Arthur bobs his head vaguely, runs a hand through his hair, no words leaving him yet again, and Merlin is suddenly struck with the thought that perhaps he is already asleep and just doesn't know it, that this is just some sort of... bizarre dream where Arthur talks and doesn't talk and doesn't kiss Merlin either, different from other dreams he has had where Arthur confesses such things because of exhaustion, perhaps? All he really knows for sure is that there is no way this is _real_.

"I mean..." he begins at last, though he cuts himself off all too quickly and moves towards Merlin once again, this time leaving no space between them. His breath is hot on Merlin's already warm face as he continues, "... that I _want you_."

Merlin is half tempted to tell Arthur that he has already said that, but has yet to tell Merlin just **what** he means by those words, and he can picture it perfectly, how things would go and unfold if he _does_ say those words, can see Arthur's eyeroll _perfectly_ in his mind, hear his tone as he calls Merlin an idiot, can feel his hand on the back of Merlin's head as he cuffs him there playfully, affectionately, coupling his words with the action all too easily and comfortably. He can see it, expects nothing less to happen, and he's lulled by the thought, excitement leaving him as he anticipates the normality of it all.

There is always the _chance_ that Arthur will kiss him, he thinks, hopes, there is _always_ the chance that he will surprise him and _just_ kiss him already, and show Merlin just what he meant by those words and that this is no dream. No matter how _slim_ that chance might be, it is still a chance all the same.

Before Merlin really knows what is happening, that slim _chance_ is becoming a reality, and Arthur is leaning in, there is an arm around his waist and if this is a dream, he cannot be bothered to care too much right now.

Arthur's lips touch his own at last, and his eyes fall shut from the shock of it, from the gentle way he does it, a jolt of surprise shooting through his entire being and making him bring his own arms up to grip at Arthur's bare shoulders, he can't tug him close enough, can't have his chest pressed against Arthur's enough, can't kiss him any harder than he suddenly is, the tentativeness gone and replaced by a hungry need, because **oh** , _that_ is what Arthur meant. _Of course_ it is.

Arthur pulls back before Merlin is really done with him, and a frown paints his features as Arthur looks at him, half-lidded eyes smug as the smirk on his face. If he was only a _little_ more awake, a little _less_ exhausted, Merlin is _sure_ he would be able to find it in him to do or say something in response to that look, but instead all he does is roll his eyes and tug Arthur back towards him for another kiss like that, thinking only that he _needs_ Arthur more than he needs sleep—and God does he need sleep.

"Arthur," he murmurs when he pulls away, tone breathless and tired.

"Mhm?"

One of Arthur's hands is resting at his hip now, his grip is comforting and arousing and **_God_** , how the hell did any of this even happen? Why is Arthur doing this _now_? Making declarations of want and kissing Merlin like that? Touching him, looking at him like that... The prince really needs to work on his timing, Merlin snorts to himself.

"I want you too, but... God, I'm _so **tired** ,_ Arthur," he laments, scowl painting his features when Arthur lets out a laugh.

After Arthur ceases in his amusement, he leans in again to kiss Merlin quickly, pulls his hands away from his hips as he pulls back, says, "So come to bed," and begins walking backwards towards his bed, eyes on Merlin all the while.

Merlin can only blink after Arthur, watches him for a long moment before what Arthur is asking of him sinks in, and he moves with a sudden surge of energy after the prince; Arthur's timing might be _awful_ , but his bed is big and **comfortable** , and Merlin is _fairly certain_ that he is going to be able to convince Arthur to kiss him until he falls asleep, finally accepting of the fact that perhaps this isn't a dream after all.

*.*.*.*.*

It is morning now, almost a week after Arthur first informed Merlin of his want, and Arthur is nosing at his neck, kissing his skin lazily, chest pressed firmly to Merlin's back, too close considering the heat, and not close enough considering, well, everything else.

"Morning, love," Merlin mumbles with a small smile on his face, barely awake, and nothing short of surprised that Arthur is already awake himself, though he has made this something of a habit, waking up _just_ before Merlin and kissing him until he's awake.

Arthur hums against his skin in reply, lips still moving pleasantly; they've fallen into this all too easily, and comfortably, into kissing and cuddling and going from wanting to having to holding to, well, everything else, and it is quite nice, _how_ easily they've fallen into everything. Merlin had been worried, the day after the first night he had spent in Arthur's bed, that everything would change and turn far too odd and strange and different, but it has all been... easy and comfortable and nice.

Without a thought, Merlin turns around to face Arthur, smiles at him lazily, grin growing wider at the pout on the prince's face.

"I was _kissing you,"_ he whines.

"You can _still_ kiss me _**now**_ —Gods, why are you such a baby before the sun comes up?"

"Shut _up_ ," Arthur mumbles with a roll of his eyes, moving towards Merlin to kiss him good morning properly, and for once, Merlin does so without complaint.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
